


Restraint

by separatedrain



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/separatedrain/pseuds/separatedrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Misha is a teasing little shit, and trailer sex happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> Set during filming of 9x09. None of this actually happened. I think. ([Tumblr version here](http://separatedrain.tumblr.com/post/69625281531/so-holly-received-her-package-which-means-i-can))

“So I guess Cas cleans up nice, huh?” Jensen makes a point of looking him up and down.

It’s been a few weeks since they’ve seen each other. Longer still since that happened in anything looking halfway decent. Misha spares a glance at his outfit himself, a far cry from oversized cargo pants or even the other, cheaper suit he practically lived in for years. “He does if he’s provided with a suit that actually fits.”

Jensen can’t quite keep the silent appreciation off his face and Misha can’t help but take note. As they shoot the first few scenes of the mid-season finale, he keeps hovering more closely than strictly necessary, getting right up into Jensen’s personal space even worse than usual. Brushing past and touching, whenever the cameras aren’t looking, slipping in the occasional dirty joke even when they are. God, he’s missed this. Jensen, to his credit, does a reasonably impressive job maintaining his composure, although after a few hours, cracks do begin to appear in the façade.

* * * * *

Jensen corners him when they break for lunch. “You,” he growls, “need to stop.”

“What with?” Misha replies, face all schooled innocence, even as he slowly, deliberately licks his fingers clean just a moment later.

“Shit like _that_ ,” Jensen groans, and Misha can’t quite help the smugness from creeping into his expression. “See? That is the face of a fucker who knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He balls up his napkin and leans over to toss it into a nearby trashcan, rather than stepping around Jensen like a normal person, noting with some satisfaction that the other guy is actually starting to get vaguely hard. He pointedly glances downward. “I do, however, have it on good authority that they don’t need us back for at least another hour.”

* * * * *

“And here I was under the impression that you liked the new suit,” Misha comments drily.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, seeing you in it is great. Still can’t hold a candle to seeing you out of it, though.” Jensen’s stripping off their clothes with remarkable speed. “‘Sides, pretty sure wardrobe would throw a fit if we get these all messed up.”

“Well, we could always say we— _fuck_.” Misha’s reply gets cut short as Jensen briefly, roughly palms his cock through the fabric of his underwear before sliding them down his hips.

“I dunno, I thought the whole point was to _not_ let them know about the fucking,” Jensen deadpans.

“Quit being a smartass and put that mouth of yours to better use already.”

Jensen does. A moment later, Misha’s gripping the edge of the table he’d been leaning against until his knuckles go white, eyes closed, lost in the sensation of hot lips wrapped around him, Jensen’s tongue licking up the underside of his cock. “Fuck, yes, that’s more like it,” he breathes.

Jensen hums around him, head bobbing up and down almost excruciatingly slowly. He slides all the way off on some of the strokes, just the tip of his tongue darting across the slit of Misha’s cock, tasting the precome. It’s agony and bliss, all at the same time. “Come _on_ ,” he groans, fisting a hand into Jensen’s hair. “Stop being such a tease and get on with it.”

Jensen swallows down around him before sliding off with a wet pop, which is only the exact _opposite_ of what he wanted, and Misha cracks open his eyes to actually glare down for a second. “Oh, right, so _I’m_ the tease, now?” Jensen’s breath ghosts hot against the wetness of his cock, contrasting with the sudden cool of the air. “Way I see it, this is just payback for this morning.”

Right in that moment, it does not at all seem like a fair point, really, and besides, two can play at that game. Misha jerks Jensen up off his knees, and has him on his back on the bed of his trailer before Jensen has fully processed what’s happening. He hooks his thumbs under the waistband of Jensen’s boxers and removes them, Jensen’s erection sitting hard and dripping against his stomach. He reaches down to touch himself, but Misha isn’t letting him get off that easy.

“No,” he murmurs right by Jensen’s ear, holding back his hands. Then he spots his discarded tie on the floor, and can’t help but get a mischievous glint in his eye as he’s suddenly developing even better ideas.

“Wait, where are you—” Jensen starts when Misha disappears. It turns into a whine of slightly desperate frustration as he realises what’s happening, just a moment later, even if he goes along with it without hesitation.

Jensen’s wrists now secured, Misha moves back, rolling his hips just once when their cocks line up. The friction sends hot tendrils of want to the pit of his stomach, and judging by the moan it elicits, Jensen isn’t much better off. It takes a good deal of self-restraint—Misha isn’t actually sure for whom this little exercise is more agonising—but he doesn’t keep going, slides further down to straddle Jensen’s thighs rather than his hips, instead. He wraps a hand around Jensen’s cock, strokes it slowly but firmly, thumbs at the sensitive spot just beneath the head.

It doesn’t take long until Jensen is writhing underneath him. “God, yeah, Mish… Faster, c’mon, gimme—” Misha lets go and stands up, instead. Jensen ruts up into the air once or twice, involuntarily, ineffectually. Curses under his breath. “I hate you so much right now, you know that?”

“Is that so?” Misha smirks, clicking open the lube he’s just fetched from some drawer. “Maybe you’d prefer if I just leave you alone, then? Instead of—” He presses one slick finger into Jensen without further warning.

Jensen arches up off the bed on a gasp. “Shut up and fuck me already, you bastard,” he manages after a moment.

“Sure. In due time.” And take his time he does, twisting his finger and stroking Jensen from the inside, gently but surely until the muscle relaxes around him, before finally, finally adding a second. Jensen pushes back against him, effectively fucking himself on Misha’s fingers now. He leans forward, kneading Jensen’s ass with his free hand, gently, carefully scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin of his cock. His own balls ache at the sight before him, Jensen basically reduced to a whimpering mess.

“ _Fuck_ … Mish, _please_ …”

He’s honestly not quite sure whether it’s more for Jensen’s sake or his own, at this point, but Misha finally gives in. He removes his fingers, lines himself up and slides home in a single thrust, Jensen crying out underneath him. He’s done with _gentle_ , now, done with slow and teasing and dragging things out. Jensen doesn’t exactly seem to mind, hips moving in frantic counterpoint against his own.

“I bet,” he manages in between gasps of breath, “bet I don’t even need to touch you— Come on, then, Jen… come for me.” He pulls back and slams into Jensen again, and next thing he knows, streaks of come are spurting up against his stomach. Jensen squeezes down around him, and then it only takes another thrust or two before Misha is cursing his way through his own orgasm. He rolls his hips once more for good measure, milking every last drop of it before he pulls out and collapses onto the bed. Well, half onto the bed and half onto Jensen, probably. He isn’t exactly coherent enough to take note of where his limbs end up precisely.

Jensen clears his throat after a minute or so, pulling against the improvised restraint. “Uh, Mish?”

“Oh. Fuck. Sorry.” He reaches over and untangles the knot closest to him.

Jensen undoes the other himself with his freed hand and holds up the wrinkled tie. “Think they’ll notice?”

Misha blinks up lazily, shrugs before curling up against Jensen’s shoulder. “Let them.”


End file.
